


Put Your Left Foot Forward

by hufflepuffdaddy



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, Anxiety, Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Trans Male Character, Trans Ryan, lots of making out, ryan wears booty shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-06 04:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15186692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepuffdaddy/pseuds/hufflepuffdaddy
Summary: shane and ryan are the closest thing to bitter enemies one can have in a college marching band.





	1. Chapter One

Ryan’s arms barely registered the stain of lugging his case to-and-fro anymore. He had been doing this—marching—since the sixth grade and had been playing since the fifth. He still remembered the night he chose his instrument; all the kids looking to join beginner’s band that year had congregated in the band room at 6:30 on a Tuesday to play around and see what instrument felt right. His school had required three years of piano lessons before joining percussion, which is what Ryan had really wanted. He had been near devastated when he found out.

Resolute and still wanting to join, he walked over to one of the many ‘stations’ set up around the room. A table set full of glinting brass and shining woodwinds was waiting next to a friendly young woman ready to assist in the selection process. He picked up a flute, a clarinet, a trombone, a trumpet, and a French horn and played a few notes on all of those. The flute was too ‘girly,’ the kept biting the clarinet’s reed; he only picked up the trombone because it was slide-y and fun, and his lips didn’t fit in the mouthpiece on either the trumpet or the French horn.

He was really feeling bummed at this point—he had been looking forward to this for actual years. Ever since he was little, he’d wanted to be in a band. His favorite parts of the local parades were always the marching bands with their fluttering plumes and banging drums.

So, after trying all these instruments and not liking any of them, he felt that his prospects were slim: he’d either have to settle for an instrument he didn’t love, or he’d have to not join at all. His thoughts must have been written across his young face, because the lady smiled and gestured for him to stand.

“Here, bud, there’s a couple more you haven’t tried.” She led him further down the table, skipping past the two saxophones, explaining, “Since you didn’t do so hot on the clarinet’s reed, I don’t think you’ll fare any better on the saxes.”

Ryan just nodded along until they got down to the instruments that were sitting on their own stands.

“I want that one,” he said, pointing to the tuba.

Ryan was a skinny kid, and the lady had noticed this, and she looked a little apprehensive at giving this tiny little fifth grader this giant piece of brass.

Nevertheless, she sat him down and let have.

* * *

  
And look where he was now.

  
Walking up to the music building for his first day of college marching bands had him beyond excited. The sousaphone he was dragging was rattling and bumping along the sidewalk behind him and the breeze was blowing through his dark hair—he was beyond excited to be here. He entered the large atrium and stopped for a second in the middle to get his bearings.

Looking around at the exposed metal beams that crisscrossed the ceiling, the black concrete floors, and the fluorescent lights hanging down made Ryan feel immediately intimidated. The whole building had a chill, breezes ran through the long hallways, and this place was for sure haunted.

Shaking himself to rid his mind of the supernatural, he set off to his left towards the band room. The wheels of his case practically glided on the smooth floors compared to the grumbling sidewalk. He approached the double doors of his second home for the next four years and pushed them open with his backside. Muscling through those doors with that gargantuan case made him feel like an absolute idiot.

 _What a first impression_ , he thought.

It seemed everyone had eyes on him as he turned around and faced the room. He immediately flushed under the attention, his face and neck turning a lovely shade of berry. He scratched his stubble uncomfortably and scanned the room for another sousaphone player, or at the very least, someone who looked like they were in charge. The drum major must have seen him floundering, because she came up to him and smiled.

“Hey, newbie, I’m Niki, and I’m your senior drum major this year.” Her voice was soft and warm yet spoke of someone who took no shit and begged no man pardon.

“So, obviously, you play sousa, so _this_ man here is your section leader,” she explained, grabbing his arm and guiding him over to a closet (the brass closet, he hoped, still dragging his case).

Inside there were three older boys, each talking and laughing with each other, seeming so at ease in this environment.

 _I hope I get over these nerves quick_ , Ryan thought to himself, a little jealous of the boys who had clearly been here longer than he had. She gestured to the stockier of the two before poking his (admittedly impressive) bicep.

“Andrew, Andrew, Andrew, quit flirting, I have someone for you,” she jibed at him, laughter in her brown eyes.

Andrew turned. “Oh, Niki, you know I never stop flirting.” He smirked as he looked her up and down appreciatively.

The boy to his immediate left gasped and smacked him on his other arm.  
“Andrew, you turd.” He has soft silver hair that was perfectly coiffed, and beautiful smooth skin that Ryan had to stop himself from leaning over to touch.

Curbing his impulse control was still somewhat of an issue for him, but it had gotten better from the time he’d grabbed a woman’s skirt because it had looked ‘soft.’ Sure, he’d been about 8 at the time, but both the woman and his mother were absolutely scandalized. Seeing this small interaction between his new drum major, his new section leader, and his friend (boyfriend?) had kind of left him speechless. He didn’t feel comfortable enough with these people yet to make jokes or even to open his mouth.

The third boy, bearded and bespectacled, was watching the scene go down with a quiet yet adoring smile on his face. _Maybe he’s a boyfriend too?_

“Steven, baby, you know I’m just razzin’ her,” Andrew cooed as he turned from Niki and Ryan to pinch the other boy’s—Steven’s—cheek somewhat condescending. Ryan knew it was false superiority because Andrew’s eyes held the same look of love as the man with the beard. Steven just rolled his eyes and swatted Andrew’s hand away, but Ryan was sure there was a faint pink tinge on the apples of his cheeks.  
Seeming to remember Ryan, Niki grabbed his shoulders and pushed him in Andrew’s direction.

“This is, um—I didn’t catch your name?”

“Ryan.”

“This is Ryan, he’s new, and he plays sousa, which makes him your responsibility.”

“Who said I wanted him?” Andrew looked him up and down appraisingly; Ryan detected no mirth in his eyes or tone.  
His expression of bewilderment and insecurity must have showed on his face, because Andrew quickly returned to his laughing tone.

“Relax, kid, I’m razzin’ you too.” He clapped Ryan on the shoulder, causing him to stumble sideways into Niki, who was still stood supportively by Ryan’s side.

“Ryan, dear, I’ve got to go for now, but you ask me or Andrew if you need anything, okay?” Niki smiled again and then walked back over to the door to spot more new recruits.

“Alright, you play sousa, cool.” Andrew said. “Like Niki said, I’m your section leader. I play the euphonium. The other section leader, Patrick, isn’t here right now, because he’s almost always late, the bastard.” He chuckled, eyes falling to the floor and coming back to rest square with Ryan’s. “He plays the trombone. Steven here is on alto sax, and Adam is in the pit, on marimba. There’s about seven more sousa players here, and they’re all wonderful, so you’ll be in great company. If you’ve got questions that relate to sousaphones specifically, ask them. Any questions?”

* * *

 

Turns out, he had had a lot of questions. He was constantly asking everyone about everything, and instead of finding it annoying, his section and the rest of the band truly found him endearing. He began to make more and more friends both in and out of band, and even joined a frat.

He’d always been on the scrawny side, but marching with 30 pounds of hulking brass on his shoulders for six years had pushed him into the ‘toned’ category. When he joined his fraternity, he’d still been relatively small, which led to a lot of skinny jokes on top of the distressing amount of short jokes he already endured. He knew his brothers meant the best, but when they went and nicknamed him ‘Shrimp’ during pledge week, he’d felt a little hurt. While not the most original name he’d ever been taunted with, it still haunted him from junior high and high school, when he was bullied almost incessantly for being so small.  
Now, after being in his frat nearing three and a half words, ‘Shrimp’ didn’t feel so bad anymore.

Except when one person called him that—Shane Alexander Madej.

He was in the rival frat as well as drumline, which meant double the amount of usual frat-boy cockiness. His height made him stand out from most of the band, excluding a flute player named Garrett. He was one of those tall bastards who ‘didn’t kiss anyone under six foot’ and constantly made jokes about being so tall. The cherry on top, though, was that both he and Ryan were now section leaders in their senior year. Ryan had bulked up quite a lot from freshman year, but every day, Shane just had to make some comment on something about him; his height, his hair, his instrument, his marching, his shoes.

“No Jordans today, eh, Shrimp?” he’d say as he ambled breezily over to his tenors.

Shane and those fucking drums. Constantly practicing, even though he really didn’t need to. He was section leader for a reason—he was loud, and he was damn good. And he knew it, too, which is why every day, without fail, he would be rapping on his tenors, a smirk adorning his giant fucking face.

Shane knew a lot of things about himself; he knew he was good at marching, good at playing, he knew he was smart—but most of all, he knew he was really fucking good-looking. His hair was always messy but always worked. His beard was never too long but just long enough to give him a nice rugged look. This rugged look was thrown a bit off-kilter because of those clear hipster glasses he wore every day, because for all his good looks, the boy was blind as a bat.

This confidence bordering on narcissism annoyed the hell out of Ryan.

Strolling in the band room and noticing a distinct lack of Madej made Ryan smile. He breathed in the aroma of sweat, turf, slide oil, and air freshener with his hands on his hips. He practically sauntered over to the brass closet to pull out his case when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Even bent at the waist, he knew someone was watching him. He paused in yanking on his bell to give the person a chance to say something, but when they didn’t, he simply resumed assembling his sousa.

After a few minutes, he was finished, and he grabbed his instrument with his right hand and swung it onto his right shoulder, but not in marching position. If he was being honest, he just liked the way it made his bicep bulge for all to see. He’d worked hard for those biceps and damn if he didn’t want people to admire them.

Ryan turned to see who was staring and to head to his seat, but no one was there. He did, however, see a familiar tree-man walking back to his drums.  
Seeing as Ryan had to pass them to get to his seat, a confrontation, however small, was inevitable. Seeing Shane’s attire and chuckling to himself, he walked past him and tittered, “Hey, Jolly Green Giant, you got any green beans for me on this fine afternoon?”

He was, of course, referring to Shane’s bright green shorts. He wore no shirt and had a matching bandana tied round his head, prompting Ryan to laugh again as Shane turned, “Christ, I didn’t know they made bandanas big enough for your noggin.”

“I didn’t know they made shorts small enough for your dick, Bergara.” Shane gestured lazily to Ryan’s purple shorts. It was the tail end of band camp, and today’s theme the director had them do was Colors—everyone in the band wore an outfit comprised of one color, and Ryan had chosen purple. He’d originally bought the booty shorts as a joke, but when he had put them on that morning, he couldn’t help noticing they did wonders for his (already wonderful) thighs and butt. The comedy angle he’d been going for was further sold by the matching sweatbands he had around his wrists and forehead. On top of all that, his white (a mistake, he knew—one must never wear white shoes on turf—they will be stained) tennis shoes made him look like a mid-80s aerobics instructor.

Shane had gone a different angle; his shorts were long and suited for basketball, and his green bandana and striped cheeks made him look like a sports fan. _Still_ , Ryan caught himself thinking, _he looks pretty good—but I look better._  
Ryan spluttered indignantly, without forming any actual words. What could he say? ‘ _Excuse you, my dick is huge, thank you very much_ ’? There really was nothing he could say without sounding like a ridiculous eighth grader, so he just kept on with his spluttering as he walked to his seat and began to warm up.

And if his cheeks were getting about as warm as his instrument, and if he played just a little louder than normal, nobody had to know.

Especially Shane.

* * *

  
After band camp and the whole booty shorts debacle, the teasing began to get worse and worse until finally his best friend and fellow low brass member, Zack, approached him about it.

“Dude, do you know what’s up with Shane?” he mentioned off-handedly while they were at lunch one day at the student union.

“What do you mean ‘what’s up with Shane’?” Ryan asked trough a mouthful of burrito.

“You seriously haven’t noticed? He’s been teasing you a lot more, sure, but as soon as you leave, he, like, follows you with his eyes.”

That same burrito caused him to choke and cough. _He what?_ Ryan thought. He couldn’t believe that maybe his small feelings were somewhat reciprocated. Those feelings that he’d been hiding, that had been keeping him up at night for weeks, could have been afflicting the very object of his affections. Realizing Zack was still waiting for a response, Ryan held up one finger while drinking some water.

“He… he what?” He tried to play it casual, but it came out as anything but. _Goddammit_.

Zack smirked over top of his heavily-laden fork.

“Yeah, dude, he’s practically drooling over you. Didn’t you see him on Colors Day during band camp? Your ass in those shorts were like a magnet, and his eyes were iron.”

“First off, that’s _the_ worst simile I have _ever_ heard. Second, I had no idea who was staring at me. I can’t fucking believe this.” He sat back, abandoning his burrito for the time being and stretching his tired back; they had been out on the field all morning learning new drill.

“I’m telling you man, it’s true.” His face turned mocking. “Gonna do anything about it, pretty boy?”

Ryan rolled his eyes and picked up his food once more. “Not right now, you dick. Do you even know I like him?”

“Look, kid, you aren’t exactly subtle.”

 _Fuck_.

The thing is, Zack was right. Every time Shane would say anything to him, chills ran up and down his spine. Every time Shane was shirtless (which he often was, but then again, so was Ryan), he practically salivated over his toned back, strong from carrying 50-pound drums and tanned from the hot sun (save for where his harness sat—that skin was almost milky white). His eyes and that _mouth_ , oh, good God.

But appearance wasn’t everything to him, though it may seem that way. Shane was smart, he was a natural leader, and when Ryan caught him helping a newbie who was having a panic attack, his theory was confirmed; Shane’s biting wit and scorching sarcasm was just a ruse for his lovely and caring demeanor.

* * *

 _Beep, beep, beep_.

Shane groaned.

 _It’s too goddamned early for this shit_.

The beeping continued as he groped around for his glasses, and when he found them, he immediately slammed the off-button on his alarm clock.

He groaned once more and laid spread-eagle on his twin bed. His feet hung off the end because _no one at this school accounted for tall people_ , he’d thought bitterly his first week. Now he was used to it.

Practice was at 8:45 this morning, and instead of getting ready, he just kept laying there.

Practice meant Ryan, and seeing Ryan meant pining. Ridiculous, rom-com pining. He felt like a lovesick little girl when he saw Ryan, so sure and strong in his position. He was always so level-headed, teaching everyone proper technique, never faltering in both band and class. His mind was beautiful, seeing things no one else did and making connections no one else would ever think of. Ryan always knew how to help the kids that were struggling, and not just in his own section; he’d even assisted the kids in _Shane’s own section_.

On top of his truly sunny disposition, Ryan had this wonderful body. His arms were strong, and his biceps bulged, and his back made Shane weak in the knees. Even the tan line from his sousa made Shane drool.

 _How is it_ , Shane thought as he dragged himself from bed and started to get dressed, _that one single man can possess all these wonderful attributes?_

Walking down the stairs with his bag, he met Sara at the corner like he always did.

“So, Shane, when are you gonna say something to your mans?” she taunted him, balancing on the curb, arms straight out. Everyone in band had strong arms, but Sara’s still managed to be dainty. Her drumsticks stuck out of her backpack and Shane pushed her shoulder. She still managed to stay on the curb despite his attempt and began walking backwards on the edge, a small smile adorning her soft face.

“My _mans_? First of all, I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about.” Sara shot him a pointed look before turning back front and Shane continued, “Secondly, even if I did, he’s not my ‘mans.’”

“He fucking might as well be, the way you talk about him… and look at him… and think about him…” she teased.

“Listen, I don’t know when or even if I’m gonna say something to him. I’m kind of afraid to fuck it up.”

“You best hurry up, son, or before you know it it’ll be graduation and you’ll quite possibly never see him again.” She was right, he knew. Chills of realization crawled from his lower back and up through his shoulder blades. The thought of never again seeing the person who made his life better was near appalling to Shane.

“Fuck, Sara, you’re right. Now don’t get all high and mighty on this, okay,” he said as he shook his finger at her, a smile pulling larger and larger across her face.

“You’re only right about this one thing. Singular. Uno. But I don’t know what I’d do or how I’d do it. What if I mess it up? What if he doesn’t like me?” He wrung his hands nervously as they approached the football field.

“What if he doesn’t like you?” Sara exclaimed incredulously. “What if he doesn’t _like you_?”

“Okay, okay, calm the fuck down.”

“Oh, that’s rich, telling me to calm the fuck down, Mr. What-If-He-Doesn’t-Like-Me. Have you not seen the way he looks at you? Everyone’s noticed the way you two mess with each other constantly. Everyone’s rooting for you. I think even the director is in on it at this point. He likes you so fucking much it’s almost painful to see the way you two interact and then sulk on your own, wallowing in your own self-pity.”

She was right.

“Fuck, you’re right again. I can’t just walk up to him and say, ‘Ryan, I really like you, and I wanna date you so hard. And I wanna fuck you even harder, so, do you wanna date me right back?’”

Sara’s face changed, and she waved her hands around in the air and squawked, “No, no, no, ew, oh my God, ew, okay, I for sure didn’t need to know that.”

Shane giggled a little bit at her antics, knowing that she wasn’t too serious, but that she was asexual, and that any time Shane said anything regarding that sort of thing, she immediately turned into this screeching mess.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he laughed as he grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her into a hug.

She harrumphed and crossed her arms around Shane’s. “Yes, you absolutely can say that to him! I mean, maybe leave out the, ah, _fucking_ thing, but other than that, yes.”

“I’m still worried, Sara. I really don’t want to ruin what we have.” He sighed and rested his chin on her head, arms still crossed around her. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth and he squeezed Sara closer.

Little did they both know, Ryan was walking towards the football field at that exact moment. He spotted Shane’s figure from the back, hunched over something, and Ryan’s heart fluttered. He sped up his pace slightly, ready to make some sarcastic remark he hoped covered his (admittedly strong) feelings.

As he approached them, though, he saw what Shane was curled around and that same heart that had been fluttering just a moment ago dropped to the floor and shattered. He had his arms wrapped around one other than Sara Rubin, a snare player Shane was apparently more than friends with. Suddenly, he couldn’t contain his sadness and ran full-tilt towards the stadium doors.

Shane opened his eyes as footfalls pounded on the asphalt past him and Sara and saw none other than Ryan sprinting past with what looked like tears in his eyes.

Sadness and anger coursed through Shane, turning his blood to ice as he broke away from Sara’s hold and ran after him. For all his long limbs, though, he could not catch up to Ryan in time to talk to him before he disappeared inside the stadium. Shane slowed his breaking run as he came up on the double doors before slapping his palm against them and leaning over, panting.

“Ryan…” he managed in between large gulps of air. “Ryan… come back… it-it wasn’t what it looked like… fuck,” he finished as he turned and slid his back down the door to plant himself on the asphalt.

A few seconds later, Sara was right there as Shane continued to catch his breath.

“I… I need to work out more,” he gasped.

“Shane. Quit being an out of shape chicken. Fortify and go after him.” Her arms crossed over her small chest and Shane snorted.

“Fortify?”

“It’s an alternative to man up. Now, go.” He scrambled to his feet and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.

“Thanks, love.” Shane pulled the doors open with more force than necessary and stalked off like he was ready for battle.

Sara paused for a moment, chuckled and shook her head before following him.  
 __

* * *

  
Ryan felt hot tears on his face and neck as he ran through to the boys’ locker room. He knew they had the field for the whole day today, and therefore the locker room would be barren.

The unmistakable scent of sweat and boys assaulted his nostrils as he stumbles in the dim light to the showers. Ryan collapsed against the grimy wall and put his head between his knees. _I should have known. I can’t believe I thought this would work. I can’t believe I thought Shane liked me. I can’t believe I thought Shane would like—no, love someone like me._

Negative, self-deprecating thoughts ricocheted inside his skull as angry and gasping sobs racked his chest. Breaths rattled through his lungs as he finally gathered himself enough to stop bawling. Quiet tears made their way down his cheeks and into his mouth and the neckline of his shirt. After his bout of crazed crying, he was almost eerily calm, resigned to a life without Shane.

Meanwhile, Shane followed the path he hoped Ryan had taken before he heard it—deep, racking heaves coming from the left, in the direction of the boys’ locker room. They quieted as he came closer, stopping completely when Shane was a few steps away from the entrance. Whoever was in here seemed to calm down, and Shane really hoped that it was Ryan. Slowly and near silently, he tiptoed through the locker room, following the sounds of heavy breathing coming from the showers.

“Ryan?” he called out, wincing at the loudness of the echo. He rounded the corner to see exactly who he was searching for. Ryan was curled up in the corner, head between his knees, back moving steadily with the force of his breathing.

“Ryan,” Shane said again, his voice smaller and more unsure than it as ever sounded as he walked towards the trembling form of the man he liked—no, _loved_ with all his heart. He sat down to the younger man’s left and placed a hand in the center of his back. The small flinch away from his touch almost sent Shane into his own spell of sadness and tears. The only thing he wanted was for Ryan to be happy, preferably with him—but there was a hole growing larger and larger in his chest with every tear that hit the mildewed floor.

“Ryan,” he tried again, “that wasn’t what it looked like, I promise.”

“Really, Shane?! Are you sure? ‘Cause it looked like you and Sara were mooching on each other outside the stadium! Even after Zack said that you liked me! Even after all the teasing and the comments and the staring?!” Ryan blew up, yanking his head from his legs and screaming at Shane, who never wavered. He just sat there and took Ryan’s verbal assault.

“You knew about that?” Shane chuckled. Ryan looked furious at his reaction.

“Now is not the _fucking time_ , Shane! What the fuck is your deal? I thought you liked me and I was steeling myself up to tell you how I felt and then I see you wrapped around Sara, of all people! Why can’t you just tell me what in the goddamned hell is happening?”

“Zack was right. He was so right. I’ve liked you for so long, but I didn’t know how to tell you, so I’ve just been messing with you instead.” During his confessional, Ryan’s shoulders had dropped from their tense position and his face had relaxed from being angry to being in utter and complete shock.

“You… you l-like me?” _Too_ , he had to bite his tongue from saying.

Shane had to bite his tongue too, but with a completely different message: I _don’t just like you, I love you, Ryan_.

“Yes, R—”

He couldn’t even finish before Ryan grabbed his face and pulled him into a bruising kiss. Shane was surprised enough that he couldn’t move, causing Ryan to move away, a look of uncertainty clouding his bright features.

Before Ryan could say a word, Shane chased his lips and slotted them together; the two kissed like they’d been together for _years_.

Their bodies instinctively twined together, communicating through touch as Ryan languidly threw his leg across Shane’s lap and straddled him. Lips and tongues danced as Shane’s hands found Ryan’s bare back and scratched lightly down to his hips, drawing a shiver from the man on top of him.

Their already naked chests pressed together as they came closer together before Shane released Ryan’s lips. He panted as Ryan did, tucking Ryan’s head under his chin.

“By the way, Sara has a girlfriend. Wanna be mine?”

Shane realized his mistake as Ryan extricated himself from his grasp to give him a look.

“Girlfriend?”

“Oh, shut up, you knew what I meant. So, what’ll it be?”

“If that kiss wasn’t enough answer for you, here’s another one.”

* * *

  
Later, as they walked out of the locker room and onto the track, the entire 124-person band cheered. Blushes painted both of their cheeks as they sheepishly held up their clasped hands.

Sara had been right—even the director was clapping.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya so basically i wrote this thing all at once and then forgot about updating it,, here’s the smut ig

Weeks passed, and Shane and Ryan were the happiest they’d ever been. Everyone in the band simultaneously congratulated them and gave them shit about their newfound relationship in the beginning, but after about a month and a half, the teasing stopped, and everyone got used to them.

Shane truly couldn’t believe that Ryan chose to be with him, of all people. He could have had anyone—but he picked Shane. And Shane was very happy, yes, but at the same time he was dying.

He was a 24-year-old man, alright, and he had needs. Sexual needs. He voiced both opinions to Sara over a case of PBR one night, and both made her roll her eyes.

“On the first one, dude. You’re wonderful and Ryan is lucky to have you. Period. And the second one—normally I’d just be grossed out and a little bit uncomfortable, but I gotta know what you mean.”

“Okay, so, basically, we’ll be getting hot and heavy, right?”

She nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

“So, we’re going at it and he’ll be on my lap or underneath me and I’ll go to do something to help him out. Because at this point, he’s, ah, _excited_ , and I am too, but as soon as I get about halfway there he always wants to stop.”

“Have you considered he’s ace too?”

Shane was floored. “No, actually. I’ve… kind of been thinking about myself here.”

Her facial expression was the only chiding he needed.

“You’re becoming more and more right by the day.”

She smiled and dug into the pint of ice cream that had been sitting unopened next to them.

“I hate it,” he added.

“Yeah, yeah,” she responded, cheeks full of ice cream.

* * *

 

The cushions were soft beneath Shane as Ryan straddled his slim hips. Shane dragged his nails up Ryan’s thighs and into his shirt. He gripped his hips hard enough to bruise and felt Ryan’s hardening cock twitch in his jeans. Pushing Ryan’s shirt up, but not off, his nimble fingers brushed across the younger’s nipples. He pinched the right one and Ryan’s hips bucked into Shane of their own accord, inadvertently pulling away from Shane’s other hand.

Shane groaned low in his throat at the friction, his cock straining against his zipper. He leaned Ryan down against the couch and climbed on top of him, rolling his hips deliciously. A broken moan fell from Ryan’s lips but was swallowed up by another filthy kiss from Shane, full of tongue and teeth and sin.

The groan unleashed something in Shane and he fucking growled, pinning Ryan’s arms above his head. “No touching.” The expression on Shane’s bearded face and the fire in his eyes made Ryan’s dick practically weep, still trapped inside his tight jeans, seeming to get tighter and tighter by the second. He felt his shirt be pushed up to his neck as Shane pressed hot, wet kisses to his neck and collarbone, beard scraping as he sucked a mark into the soft flesh of Ryan’s shoulder. He continued his assault, creeping lower and lower as he left more love bites down the planes of Ryan’s chest and stomach.

As he reached the waistband of Ryan’s jeans, he began to undo the button with his teeth, looking up at the wearer. Ryan was straining not to do anything with his hands; his biceps and neck were strained, veins popping out with the effort of keeping his hands above his head. “Fuck, Shane,” he groaned as he felt the zip of his jeans being tugged down. Shane took this as encouragement and lolled his tongue around the exposed bit of Ryan’s boxers.

“No, wait, Shane, wait, st-stop.”

Shane sat back on his haunches, panting, and looked at Ryan; he looked beautiful. His pupils were blown, lips bitten raw and swollen, hickeys littering his torso. In short, he looked fucked-out, and they hadn’t even started.

“What’s the deal, baby?” Shane managed to get out, dragging his hand down his face to compose himself. Ryan had to ignore the way the pet name made his softening dick perk up again before responding, confused.

“The ‘deal?’” He tilted his head, brows furrowing.

“Not that I’m upset, but any time I get close to removing your jeans, no matter how far along or how hard you are, we stop.” Ryan could see in Shane’s face that he wasn’t finished, but his mind was already racing way ahead, coming up with all sorts of thoughts about how Shane might not want him anymore.

He guessed that Shane saw those thoughts written all over his (sometimes too) expressive features, because suddenly, Shane was pulling his shirt back down and cuddling up to him. He leaned against Shane’s chest as the older whispers, “Hey, hey, hey. I’m so, _so_ , not upset with you. I just need to know what’s going on, so we can work with it together.”

Ryan said nothing, just nuzzled his face further into Shane’s sternum and nodded.

“Okay, darling, what’s going on? Are you asexual?”

Ryan sat up and shook his head blearily, still recovering from the high of their earlier activities and the sudden onslaught of anxiety. He cracked a smile and said softly, “I probably have the highest sex drive of anyone I know.”

Shane just smirked and looked him up and down before quickly returning to his concerned demeanor.

“Then what’s going on?”

Ryan’s thoughts screeched to a halt. He knew exactly what was going on, and he was so, so afraid. He had been rejected and hurt so many times because of this, and he didn’t want Shane to be the next in the long line of exes. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for the same world of hurt.

“I…” he hesitated, looking down at his fingers and picking at his already rough cuticles.

“Hey, hey, hey, now,” Shane smiled reassuringly and lifted Ryan’s head to meet his gaze. “Don’t worry. I’ll still be here after whatever supposed revelation you break to me.”

“Promise?” Ryan’s lower lip trembled, and his beautiful brown eyes filled with tears.

Shane’s heart clenched. “Promise.”

Bolstered by his boyfriend’s promise, Ryan took a deep breath. “I’m trans,” he blurted, immediately hiding his face behind his hands.

After a few excruciatingly silent moments, he peeked through his fingers and saw searched Shane’s face for any trace of disgust—or, worst of all—pity.

Instead, all he saw was a blinding smile.

“That’s what you were worried about?” He touched Ryan’s forearms lightly and brought his arms away from his face.

Ryan nodded, uncertainty written over his face.

“No need, darling. I love you for you, not for whatever is or isn’t going on down there.”

The uncertain mask broke into an expression of pure happiness. “Really?”

“Really really.”

“You’re not mad I didn’t tell you earlier?”

Shane simply pulled his boyfriend onto his lap, running his fingernails lightly down his back.

“No, not at all. It was and always will be your thing to tell. I’m a little mad at myself for not knowing, if I’m being honest.”

Shaking his head and sitting back, Ryan replied, “Don’t be. It’s not exactly something I like to go shouting from the rooftops.”

“But…” Shane clearly had some qualms but was afraid to voice them. Ryan caressed his beard lovingly and this gave Shane the confidence to ask his question. “I don’t mean to sound… ignorant, but you’ve got great pecs that, truth be told, I look at a lot. How’s come I didn’t notice any… scarring?”

“I had keyhole surgery, which basically meant they cut right below my areola, so there’s not too much obvious scarring.”

“Oh… but, now that we’ve gotten this and that out of the way, we really do need to talk.” At the horrified expression on Ryan’s face, Shane quickly added, “We aren’t breaking up! This is not that!”

A loud and relieved left the man sitting on Shane’s lap as he continued, “But… any issues you have with dating, sex, your identity, and, like… ‘out-ness’ status we gotta talk about. I don’t wanna go around fucking things up for you.”

Ryan couldn’t fucking believe it.

Someone not only was staying with him, they were asking him about boundaries. Now, he knew his experience wasn’t the same as all trans people, but his heart still felt giddy at the prospect of a fucking decent guy.

“I mean, I’m still your boyfriend. I haven’t exactly… changed. As to sex… I really enjoy it. A lot. Maybe too much. I just had to keep stopping earlier because I was afraid disclosing my identity would make you leave me.” With this, he shifted on Shane’s lap and heard a small grunt come from beneath him.

“Plus,” he said matter-of-factly, “since I don’t go about screaming about being trans, I don’t want you to do so either.” Shane just nodded again, making direct, almost uncomfortable eye contact with Ryan.

As they sat, comfortable in the quiet between them, a glint appeared in Shane’s eyes.

“Really like sex, huh?”

Ryan blushed and unconsciously tightened his thighs around Shane’s hips.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Wanna?” He punctuated his ask with a roll of the hips, causing Ryan’s head to fall back and his mouth to open.

“Hell yeah,” he breathed, already fucked-out: pupils blown, hair incredibly awry, hot and sticky arousal coursing through his veins and pooling in his stomach.

Oh, that tone of voice; it made Shane weak in the knees. Knowing that it was him and only him that could draw that voice from Ryan brought a hot ball of pride, possessiveness, and lust into his chest. He slammed his lips into Ryan’s, swallowing his moans and shoving his tongue inside the other’s mouth. The kiss was wet and dirty, teeth clashing and tongues writhing, and when Ryan brought his hips down on Shane’s growing bulge, he couldn’t help himself. He growled, and a whimper fell from Ryan’s lips as a fresh surge of heat made its home in his abdomen.

Shane broke the kiss and started sucking greedily right where he knew Ryan wanted, the spot just behind his ear. He didn’t realize it, but as he continued to litter Ryan’s neck and chest with dark hickeys over the old, he began to speak: “God, Ry, you’re so perfect.”

His voice was just a touch lower than his normal speaking voice, and Ryan keened at the praise.

“My handsome man, you feel so good—unh—fuck, Ry, so good for me. Gonna let me suck your cock? Hm? Is that what you want? Me, down on my knees for you as you fuck my mouth senseless ‘til you cum?” Shane brought himself back up from where he’d been down on Ryan’s stomach and whispered in his ear, “But I bet you know that as hard as you can fuck my mouth, it’s nothing compared to how good and hard I can fuck you.”

“Oh, pl-please, Shane, I need it.”

“Huh? Need what?” A lilting smile adorned Shane’s face as he teased Ryan, taking in how gorgeous he looked.

“Need… need you to suck my cock, fuck me, anything—need you.”

“Always happy to oblige.”

And with that, Shane dropped to his knees on the floor and inserted himself between Ryan’s legs. As he had already undone Ryan’s jeans earlier, all he had to do was pull his jeans and boxers down in one fell swoop and he was naked. Ryan shook under Shane’s gaze, both with insecurity and arousal until Shane whispered, “Beautiful.”

He grabbed his thighs and pulled them farther apart, snarling, “Mine,” before diving in wholeheartedly.

Easily taking Ryan’s cock to the hilt, he pressed his tongue to the head and Ryan moaned unabashedly.

Taking that as a sign to continue, he maneuvered Ryan’s (fucking hairy) legs onto his shoulders and resumed bobbing his head along the shaft. Ryan’s hands found Shane’s hair and yanked, eliciting a groan from him that reverberated up and into Ryan, who tightened his hands in Shane’s hair again.

Curling his fingers around Ryan’s thighs, Shane pulled him until his entire lower half was dangling over the couch. Ryan outright yelped as Shane’s spindly finger prodded at his hole before melting into a moan as one circled and teased it.

Suddenly he just couldn’t hold back anymore and started babbling, begging for release.

“Shane, please, oh, Sha-ane, please can I cum?”

“Let go, baby,” Shane replied before sinking down again and sucking particularly hard. This is what broke Ryan; waves of heat crashed over him and he pulled harder than before on Shane’s hair. He sobbed with the force of it as he came down, falling limp against the sofa and breathing hard.

He felt as though he was floating as Shane gathered him up in his arms and carried him to the bedroom. He laid Ryan down carefully before stripping off the rest of his clothing and climbing in beside him. The feeling of Shane’s warm body against him helped Ryan come back down to earth, and a small but vaguely urgent thought entered his mind.

“Did… did you cum?”

Shane smiled and pushed Ryan’s sweaty hair away from his face and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“Yeah,” he said almost sheepishly. “Seeing you so hot made me cum in my jeans, baby boy.”

“Oh, fuck, that’s hot.”

* * *

 

On the day of their graduation, they ran towards each other after the ceremony, colliding in an intense embrace in the middle of the throng. Shane dipped Ryan low and kissed him sweetly, seemingly uncaring about the hundreds of people around them, before whispering so only Ryan could hear, “You make my heart beat faster than my tenors. I love you, Ryan Bergara.”

“I love you too, you big dumb drumliner.”


End file.
